a-drillen
Wi' barley or some wheat, in hopes o' villen
Wi' good fresh corn his empty crop.
But lik' a thief, he didden like the pains
O' worken hard to get en a vew grains;
Zoo while the sleeky rogue wer there a-hunten,
Wi' little luck, vor corns that mid be vound
A-pecken vor, he heaerd a pig a-grunten
Just tother zide o' hedge, in tother ground.
"Ah!" thought the cunnen rogue, an' gi'ed a hop,
"Ah! that's the way vor me to vill my crop;
Aye, that's the plan, if nothen don't defeaet it.
If I can get thik pig to bring his snout
In here a bit an' turn the barley out,
Why, hang it! I shall only have to eat it."
Wi' that he vled up straight upon a woak,
An' bowen, lik' a man at hustens, spoke:
"My friend," zaid he, "that's poorish liven vor ye
In thik there leaeze. Why I be very zorry
To zee how they hard-hearted vo'k do sarve ye.
You can't live there. Why! do they meaen to starve ye?"
"Ees," zaid the pig, a-grunten, "ees;
What wi' the hosses an' the geese,
There's only docks an' thissles here to chaw.
Instead o' liven well on good warm straw,
I got to grub out here, where I can't pick
Enough to meaeke me half an ounce o' flick."
"Well," zaid the crow, "d'ye know, if you'll stan' that,
You mussen think, my friend, o' getten fat.
D'ye want some better keep? Vor if you do,
Why, as a friend, I be a-come to tell ye,
That if you'll come an' jus' get drough
Theaese gap up here, why you mid vill your belly.
Why, they've a-been a-drillen corn, d'ye know,
In theaese here piece o' groun' below;
An' if you'll just put in your snout,
An' run en up along a drill,
Why, hang it! you mid grub it out,
An' eat, an' eat your vill.
Their idden any fear that vo'k mid come,
Vor all the men be jist a-gone in hwome."
The pig, believen ev'ry single word
That wer a-twold en by the cunnen bird
Wer only vor his good, an' that 'twer true,
Just gi'ed a grunt, an' bundled drough,
An' het his nose, wi' all his might an' main,
Right up a drill, a-routen up the grain;
An' as the cunnen crow did gi'e a caw
A-praisen [=o]'n, oh! he did veel so proud!
An' work'd, an' blow'd, an' toss'd, an' ploughed
The while the cunnen crow did vill his maw.
An' after worken till his bwones
Did eaeche, he soon begun to veel
That he should never get a meal,
Unless he dined on dirt an' stwones.
"Well," zaid the crow, "why don't ye eat?"
"Eat what,